


Assuming the Best

by spookywoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Interventions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Epilogue Compliant, Potions Master Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: You know what you’ve done. Be home at seven sharp. -LMHe’d gotten the initials. That did not bode well. Something had to be very wrong for his father to sign a noteLM. Draco didn’t have time to worry about offending his parents, he had real work to do. Whatever the problem, he hoped there would be a good red wine available to ease the bombardment of what would likely be a ridiculous revelation.Or the one where Lucius stages an intervention, Blaise is here for it, and Draco is utterly confused





	Assuming the Best

**Author's Note:**

> My first Drarry ficlet!
> 
> Phew. I am enormously indebted to [Estrella](https://hogwartsfirebolt.tumblr.com/) and [Rachel](http://restlessandordinary.tumblr.com/) for looking this over for me.

After a grueling day at the potions lab, all Draco wanted was to come home to the Manor and take a long, hot bath. He’d attended a Ministry charity gala the night before and drank too much champagne, which led him to stare at a finely dressed Harry Potter and make a larger than usual donation to a somewhat worthy cause. He’d been too preoccupied with the man’s well-fitted Muggle tuxedo and green eyes to even pay attention to the name of the charity.

Draco woke up in one of the guest bedrooms naked and with a headache like he’d gone ten rounds with the Whomping Willow. He vaguely remembered being too drunk and too cold to apparate himself home. Then it hit him: the realization that someone had lent their jacket and offered a side-along. And that someone having been Harry Potter was just icing on the mortification.

He spent the day slightly hungover until his Sobering Draught finished. He stewed in the regret that he only ever seemed to have eyes for that particular man.  He’d grown impatient with their meeting only at such events as of late. In his post-gala haze, Draco thought he might write Potter a note, perhaps invite him to lunch to thank him for his kindness. He did have the excuse of having to return Potter’s jacket. He considered it and began leaning toward taking the plunge.

But instead, he received an owl from his father alerting him to an urgent matter that needed immediate attention.

_Make haste, your presence is required at the Manor to discuss the repercussions of your actions. -Lucius_

He’d signed it by name and not with the usual _Your Father_ and that had Draco worried. He was also incredibly confused. He hadn’t done anything remotely terrible enough to warrant such a reaction from Lucius. The most perplexing thing about it was he hadn’t done much of anything for weeks as his work on a new bone regrowth potion took up all of his time and energy. He’d spent some nights at the lab, stealing a few precious hours of sleep on an old tufted sofa. It had been days since he’d even seen his parents. His last conversation with Lucius had been to make sure Draco attended the gala. And while his donation had been higher than usual, surely there was never an amount too high if it helped restore the Malfoy name. Draco really was clueless as to what had angered his father.

_I haven’t any idea to what you are referring. Please do us both a favor and elaborate on the heinous crime you think I’ve committed against you. -Draco_

He spent the rest of the afternoon annoyed and completely forgot to write to Harry Potter. After his last cauldron had been cleaned, the response arrived.

_You know what you’ve done. Be home at seven sharp. -LM_

He’d gotten the initials. That did not bode well. Something had to be very wrong for his father to sign a note _LM_. Draco didn’t have time to worry about offending his parents, he had real work to do. Whatever the problem, he hoped there would be a good red wine available to ease the bombardment of what would likely be a ridiculous revelation.

-/-

Lucius Malfoy sent a silent curse to Blaise Zabini for his tardiness and glared at the young man as he entered the drawing room at five to seven. Narcissa greeted him with a cordial smile and inquired after his health, but Lucius was too nervous to follow their conversation. He’d spent the whole day teetering between outrage and disappointment, almost unable to grasp Draco’s complete and utter disregard for the family’s reputation.  

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” Zabini said excitedly, his voice buzzing with eagerness. “I have been waiting for this  _for years._ ”

“Indeed,” said Pansy Parkinson in agreement. She had arrived twenty minutes prior and sat posed and upright on a button carver chair, wearing a silver satin gown. She looked almost out of a Baroque painting. “I’ll be late to the Greengrass party, but I couldn’t miss this.”

More disappointment surged through him at the thought of Draco missing another one of the events of the season. Lucius shook his head and reminded himself that things were about to change. Draco would see reason and would do the right thing for their family. He would do the right thing for himself.

Lucius hadn’t been able to hide his shock after he’d informed Draco’s closest companions of the news. Neither Pansy or Blaise had been surprised to find out, in fact Zabini’s outburst in the Floo call had been truly shocking.  

“About fucking time!” he’d howled. Lucius’ ears were still ringing. He pressed a finger to his temple to calm his nerves and continued to drown out Zabini’s voice while he babbled on about his latest feature in the  _Prophet_.

Draco chose that very moment to stroll into the room, a full glass of red wine in one hand and a look of shock, quickly replaced with horror, animating his weary face. Draco took in the sight of his parents, Pansy, and Blaise, and said, “What is the meaning of this?”

Lucius stepped forward. “Draco, this is very serious. Please sit down.” Fear spread across his son’s features but Draco found an empty armchair near the fireplace that faced everyone else in the room.

“What is going on?” Draco finally said. He turned his mother. “Mother?”

To an untrained observer, Narcissa’s face appeared stiff, even neutral. But Lucius zeroed in on the tension above her right eye, the twitch of something in her throat, a sure sign she had ample things to say but held her tongue.

“Draco,” Lucius began. He raised his chin and stared down his son. “We are all gathered here today to get everything out in the open.” His son’s only reaction was to raise an eyebrow and take a small sip of wine. Draco’s audacity! Lucius shook his head and pointed to the folded clothes on the table, trying to hide his disgust at sight of Muggle formalwear. Draco followed the gesture but didn’t react to the evidence of his transgression, but simply smiled at the sight of the black pair of dress trousers, white dress shirt, and black gentlemen’s tuxedo jacket.  

“Am I supposed to know what in Circe’s name is going on?” Draco finally asked.

Lucius took a deep breath to steady himself. He was right; Draco hadn’t denied it. “I found these in the West Wing this morning,” he explained. “The house elves told me what happened last night and this can only mean one thing.” Draco shot him an impudent look and Lucius couldn’t contain his displeasure for another moment. “We all know you’ve been fucking Harry Potter, Draco! You aren’t even trying to hide it!”

At last, Draco reacted. With wide eyes and an open mouth, his pale skin flushed as he glanced from Parkinson, to Zabini, to Narcissa, and finally back to Lucius. “I’m not--I’m not--”

“The coat has his name embroidered in it!” Lucius raised his voice. “The Muggle clothes! The fact that you apparated onto the property with him and stole away to the unused part of the house! Hiding this from us, Draco, _what_ were you thinking?”

“Really, Draco,” Pansy chided, “I must applaud you for keeping this a secret for so long.”

Lucius snided, “It won’t be for much longer. You aren’t subtle, Draco.” He pulled the six letters he’d received that morning from acquaintances who’d attended the gala. Holding them up, he explained, “Everyone saw you two eye fucking last night. Elizabeth Barnsby couldn’t wait to write me and tell me the latest gossip among the ladies circles is about the Savior and his--” Lucius opened one of the letters and scanned it. Quoting, “ _‘High society, bad boy arm candy_.’”

Zabini burst out laughing and Lucius shot him a glare to silence him. When he turned back to Draco, his son had taken on a strawberry hue. His embarrassment was to be expected. Salazar, Lucius felt he should be ashamed--ashamed from keeping such a thing from his family. Draco was working himself to an early grave trying to revolutionize the potions world and reestablish the name of Malfoy as something good in wizarding society. But it was obvious now, at least to Lucius, that all his son had to do was go public with this--this _relationship_ \--and their family name would rise to levels it hadn’t been in decades.

“I’m sorry,” Draco began, his grey eyes focused on the Lucius.

“Your apology is noted,” Lucius started to say but Draco threw up a finger to stop him.

“I’m sorry, give me just a moment to go over the facts as you have them.” Draco downed the rest of his wine and started pacing. “Potter and I met up at the gala, where--according to your sources--we couldn’t keep our eyes off each other. We apparated back here, sneaked into the West Wing despite all the horrendous memories it holds, and had amorous relations.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. It almost sounded as if Draco was still denying it.

“So,” Draco walked over to the pile of clothes and pulled up the trousers. “I’ll ask you how you think after a night of what could only be passionate and wild lovemaking, Harry Potter left out of the main hall of Malfoy Manor, walked to edge of the property, and apparated to London in nothing but his pants.”

Blaise burst out laughing again but Lucius didn’t even get a chance to quiet him. Draco unfolded the trousers and held them up to the front of his form. “These are a perfect fit for my body,” he glanced at Pansy Parkinson. “Pans, how much taller am I than Potter?”

She cleared her throat. “About three or four inches, give or take how awful his hair is on the day.”

“Three or four inches,” Draco nodded. “I’ll point out how these are the right length for my height.” He smirked, and Lucius was about to lose it. “And also that _you_ , dear father, were the one who took me out to Muggle London and bought these for me under the insistence that I wear Muggle formal clothes to Ministry events.” 

“That’s not--”

“Your exact words were  _‘Even this horrendous style looks fantastic on the Malfoy form’_.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “You still haven’t denied it!”  

“I think I would know if I were having an affair with Harry bloody Potter!”

Blaise Zabini, at last under control, asked, “How do you explain the tuxedo jacket?”

Lucius knew there had been a reason he’d invited the garish socialite. “Yes, explain!”

Draco dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “I was cold.”

“Pfft,” Zabini exhaled. “You know about a dozen Heating Charms after living in the dungeons!” He turned to Parkinson and smiled. “He’s trying to say it’s more believable that Potter lent him his coat, apparated him home, and said _’What a good time, Draco, have a good night!’_ and then Draco strip teased his way down the hall of the unused side of the Manor completely undebauched.”

Narcissa finally spoke up wearing a look of mild concern. “Had you been drinking, dear?”

Pansy Parkinson snorted. “Well, obviously.” She turned to Lucius. “Hang on, why didn’t the House Elves pick up the clothes?”

Draco smirked, “They’ve been ordered not to touch our clothes since second year at Hogwarts.”

“Enough!” Lucius teetered on a blind rage and he wasn’t even sure what he was more angry about--the fact that it seemed Draco was not sleeping with Potter, that Lucius had somehow managed to misread the information, or that now everyone was sharing great amusement at his expense. “Clearly there has been a misunderstanding.” 

Zabini grinned. He was enjoying himself far too much. “I’m still hung up on the fact that in your version of events, Potter leaves the Manor without any of his clothes.”

“If anyone could get away with it,” Parkinson said, “it would be Potter’s fine arse.”

“I said that was enough,” Lucius warned.

“Pans,” Draco started. “Do you by chance have a plus one to the Greengrass party this evening?” He motioned to his empty wine glass. “I think I’m going to need something stronger after this intervention, at least something to appease my trauma. I’m certain this has surely added years to my mind healer visits.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. His son’s sardonic tone doused most of Lucius’ embarrassment, and left him with only concern. As if sensing his turn of mood, Narcissa said, “We mean well, Draco. We only wanted you to be honest with us. As much as the restoration of the Malfoy name is important, your health and happiness is far more paramount.”

“Yes,” Blaise added mildly. “We are all here because we care.”

-/-

The next morning, Lucius woke and went about his normal routine while the final remnants of his previous day’s mistakes eased away. He and Narcissa had stayed up talking about his well meant endeavor, but decided Lucius had gone too far, perhaps once again meddling in Draco’s life when it was best left alone. Lucius decided he’d not breach the subject again, and would leave Draco to pursue his own dreams and desires lest they bring him harm.

Lucius made his way to the garden for his morning tea where he found Narcissa beautiful and basking in the morning glow.

“Is Draco awake yet?” he asked. “I wish to apologise.”

Narcissa put down her cup of tea and sighed. “The Elves say he came home last night but his bed’s not been slept in.” She gave Lucius a knowing look.

A flurry of something like fear swept over him briefly, but he reined it in. He knew immediately Draco had gone to sleep in the West Wing. Was it the nightmares again? What drew his son to the unused and tainted part of the house? “I’ll go fetch him then,” he offered.

Lucius made his way into the abandoned hallway that led to the unused wing. It put him on edge just walking through it; he had no idea how Draco could sleep there.

He tripped on something and looked down. The familiarity of the previous day’s events hit him like a curse as he took in the sight of a pair of dress trousers at his feet. “Merlin, Draco! Again?” He kicked them aside and stalked down the hall to the bedroom, passing more discarded clothes on the way. “Draco!” he shouted. He couldn’t handle it if his son had regressed into a dark state, but the drinking, the overwork, the disconnect. His progress and stability after the war was one of the few things that had given Lucius hope.

Lucius threw open the bedroom doors. “Draco! I won’t tolerate this! You--” He stopped in his tracks as his eyes landed on a raven mop of hair on a fit, tanned body, leaning over the pale form of his son-- _his son_ \--writhing on the bed.

He turned away and ran from the room.

-/-

Draco brought a fully dressed Harry Potter to breakfast out on the patio. He could not stop smiling as they made small talk with his mother over the incoherent screaming of his father echoing over from the garden hedges.

  
  



End file.
